


In Fair Verona, Where We Lay to Rest

by russian_blue



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M, Ghosts, Peace, Possession, Post-Canon, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 20:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13131789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russian_blue/pseuds/russian_blue
Summary: Had the lady not died, she could have warned her husband. But she perished from the shock, the final victim of the strife that bled between Montague and Capulet, and so no one at all lived to tell Verona that it had become a city of ghosts.





	In Fair Verona, Where We Lay to Rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HerbertBest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerbertBest/gifts).



'Twas not the exile of her son that stopped Lady Montague's breath, but the knowledge of his death, which she had before the watchmen encountered that pitiful and bloody sight in the churchyard and Capulet tomb.

Had the lady not died, she could have warned her husband. But she perished from the shock, the final victim of the strife that bled between Montague and Capulet, and so no one at all lived to tell Verona that it had become a city of ghosts.

 

***

 

The prince had commanded peace, but there was no peace to be had, for the living or for the dead.

Alone in his cell, sick with grief, Friar Lawrence prayed for forgiveness, while the ghost of Juliet hovered behind his shoulder, trying and failing to comfort.

Kneeling at the tomb of his wife and his son, Lord Montague grieved for his unfathomable loss, while Romeo begged him attend to the neglected duties of his house.

Pacing the gallery of her house, Lady Capulet nurtured her hatred of those enemies who had cost her so dear, while Tybalt whispered vengeful words to stoke her rage.

And the spirit of Mercutio stood in Verona's square, looking up at the golden statues, shining side by side. Romeo and Juliet, serene and pure, separated by death but here conjoined, hand in hand as a symbol of the harmony that still eluded all.

He looked, and he mused, and he crafted a plan.

 

***

 

Prince Escalus was much surprised when young Benvolio Montague came to him and said, "The time is long past when I should wed. But my marriage should serve the good of the city, healing this rift that still tears us apart. With your permission, my lord, I would wed a Capulet daughter."

"It is well-spoken, and a noble plan," said the prince. "If the Capulets be willing, then you have my blessing." But in silence he doubted, for Lord Capulet was not apt to give another daughter to the house for whom the first had died.

His surprise grew greater still when young Rosaline Capulet came to him and said, "My lord, although I vowed my life to be chaste, the peace of this fair city calls me to a higher end. I seek to wed, and for my husband, I wish some son of the Montague line."

"You astonish me," said the prince. "For not one day past I had such a son in my presence, wishing to wed a Capulet daughter. If Benvolio Montague be to your liking, then you shall both have my blessing, and I will undertake to bring your respective lords to heel."

Prettily did Rosaline curtsy, with a grace not seen since Juliet died. "I thank you for your kindness, my lord. If fortune smiles, we may yet reconcile our two houses."

 

***

 

The wedding was set for one week hence.

The city rejoiced, being tired of war. But of those most directly concerned, Lord Montague objected, Lord Capulet protested . . . and Lady Capulet seethed with poisoned fury.

That it should come to this: another Capulet sold to the house of Montague, another flower stained by unclean hands. Was it not enough that she had lost Juliet, sweet Juliet, the child of her own body? The groom of that hateful marriage went from his nuptial bed to strike down Tybalt, son to Lady Capulet's own brother. And now her niece would wed Benvolio? It could not be borne.

_No true soul could bear such outrage,_ Tybalt's ghost whispered in her ear. _The memory of the honored dead requires that it be answered._

She tossed in her nightmare-haunted bed, and planned.

 

***

 

Benvolio too slept ill, dreaming of his slain kinsman, who seemed to him to walk the streets of Verona still.

Likewise Rosaline and her cousin Juliet, whose dove-sweet voice still sounded in her ear.

And from their sleeping forms rose two mist-thin figures, which through Verona's moonlit night drifted until they came to meet, beneath their golden memorials.

"Once I thought of naught but Rosaline," said the ghost of Romeo. "Now I look upon her, and see no fairness there. I love the sight only because I know your face beneath her own lies hid."

"My mind misgives me," replied the spirit of Juliet. "For although our wish is noble, to use others for our ends does not sit well."

Her answer came, not from her slain husband, but from a third phantom, rising up from the statues' marble base. "Your lives were too untimely ended. Did not your cousins love you both? 'Tis for their sakes you do this, and for yours in turn they would consent."

"'Would' is not the act itself," said Juliet to the shade of Mercutio. "We did not ask."

"And if you did, they would not hear." He shrugged, untroubled. "It will soon be done. Wed your husband once more, in the person of Benvolio; he will kiss your living lips, borrowed of fair Rosaline. By such deceits may peace be bought. But come: you must not neglect your sleeping hosts, lest they wake and find you gone. Tomorrow shall the deed be done."

 

***

 

In all their silks and jewels they came, Montague and Capulet and others still besides. For the sake of this bright day they laid aside their mourning black, to celebrate the peace to be, the wedding of Benvolio and his new lady, Rosaline.

All but one: the Lady Capulet.

She alone refused to come. To grief's dark weeds she yet clung, and with calm as chill as winter's bite declared she would not bless this misbegotten union with her presence. Lord Capulet, weary of her poisoned tongue, left her with her fury.

Benvolio Montague, standing like the image of the slain Romeo. Rosaline Capulet, beneath her veil, moving with the grace of the lost Juliet. Those who beheld them fancied they could see some echo of their cousins lost, remembered in their faces.

Friar Lawrence roused from his cell to wed them both, in penance for his role before.

The prince was there, to oversee.

And from the ceiling high above, like the angels whose grace he often mocked, the spirit of Mercutio watched over all, to see his scheme through to its end.

He felt a chill, as if some shadow cast itself over the bright assemblage below. Seeing nothing there amiss, he told himself it 'twas but fancy. Then he heard a creak, as if the tomb swung wide its door for those it had misplaced. He told himself 'twas but some restless guest. Then he saw a flicker move, and finally he went in search.

To one side, the crypt door: open. And deep below, a light.

 

***

 

There she stood, the Lady Capulet. In her hand she held a lamp, and at her feet, a fuse.

This, she thought, must be their end: the hated Montagues, and all who would accept such peace. Her husband, brother, prince, and more. Verona would be purged with flame.

Even Mercutio's silver tongue could not have turned her from her course. He chose not to appear, knowing that a single error could send all those above to heaven or to hell. Instead he did as his friends had done: into her form he sent himself, an animating shade.

Only to find himself confronted. 'Twas not Lady Capulet alone who stood within the crypt, but the spirit of her nephew, too. Him it was who held the lamp, his restless ghost seeking a peace of his own through the deaths of those he despised.

Within the lady's shape they warred, her hand trembling like the flame it held. Then she moved, casting it aside to the foot of the stairs, far from that which it would burn.

Fury knocked both spirits free. Lady Capulet collapsed. Tybalt stood with sword unsheathed, a smile on his spectral face. "Mercutio," said he. "To kill thee once was not enough."

With a blade were they both buried, and so in death they went armed still. Mercutio drew his own sword. "Good Prince of Cats," said he. "It seems you have yet one life left. I'll gladly strip it from thee."

 

***

 

Before the altar stood the bride, poised to answer the question posed.

"No," said she. "My conscience will not let me be."

Then from the form of Rosaline she rose, the spirit of slain Juliet. To the astonished crowd she made her curtsy, saying, "Our dearest dream was this: that we might yet bring our two families to peace. But this is not the way. To steal the will of my sweet coz? If she should wed, it should be of her own free will. And so too with Benvolio."

At her lead, Romeo likewise came forth. "My lady shames me with her words. I thought to undo the harm I'd done, but this would be but harm anew. If peace should come, it must come from the living, not the dead."

Then they were gone, in a haze of spectral light. And all those present heard a creak, as if the tomb door closed again; but it was only the crypt-stair door, which swung as if an unseen breeze had made it move. Going to it, the friar saw a light below, and went to find the cause.

 

***

 

For Lady Capulet, a prison gentle, where she could not bring harm to any -- least of all herself. To the end of her days she raved of ghosts, and vengeance, and her nephew twice slain.

For the two lords, a grudging reconciliation, knowing that the cost of war might yet have become higher still.

For Tybalt of the Capulets, an end, and this time one that endured.

For Romeo and Juliet, peace at last.

And for Mercutio . . .

He haunts Verona still.

**Author's Note:**

> It's the Ghost of Shakespeare Past! . . . or something. Happy Yuletide!


End file.
